


Just A Giant Girl

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Era Queen (Band), Affection, Affectionate Insults, Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Fic, Banter, Bars and Pubs, Best Friends, Brian Needs a Hug, Brian definitely needs a hug, But really what else is new?, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking & Talking, Drunkenness, Epic Friendship, Fashion & Couture, Femininity, Fish & Chips, Fist Fights, Freddie is just fantastic, Gen, History of the British isles, Hugs, Innuendo, Insecurity, It's not even a full fight really Rog just gets punched in the face, Just a bit about the Roman occupation, Light Angst, Makeup, Minor Injuries, Panic, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Philosophy, Photography, Platonic Kissing, Poor Brian has no idea he's beautiful, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), Questions, Rog is angry that Brian doesn't feel good about himself, Rog you naughty boy, Roger Meddows Taylor is a fashion icon, Roger's pink sparkly tennis shoes, Sad Brian May, Self-Esteem Issues, Sleepy Cuddles, Slurs, Smoking, Swearing, Sweet, Sweet John, Triggers, Vegetables, Why do I keep having people talk shit to him? I'm sorry, possible triggers, shortness of breath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: "...I knew it, I've always known it, I don't look right, Roger.""What the fuck are you on about, Bri?""I'm just a-- can't put myself together properly, not like you, or John, and especially not Freddie." Brian lifts his eyes and looks piteously up at Roger from under his mussed midnight fringe. "I'm either stodgy businessman or awkward swan, and there's nothing I can do about it.""What?" Roger's lips tremble as his eyes sparkle with suppressed laughter. "What're you talking about, Brian? You're like me, and there's no reason to be buggered about it--you're just a giant girl!"(Or, Brian is insecure about his looks onstage and amongst people, and Roger informs him of a few things)
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Roger Taylor
Comments: 32
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

The roar of the crowd behind the sparkling lights and pyrotechnics washes over Brian like a wave, though sometimes it's more of a riptide current that threatens to knock the guitarist off his feet.

Freddie waves, calls out "Thank you, darlings! We love you all!" And then blows kisses to the roaring crowd. Roger whoops as he whirls his drumsticks about. Even John is beaming, expressive face crinkled in that real smile that squints his eyes and makes his cheeks look like little round puffs. And Brian, Brian ducks his shoulders and carefully pulls his guitar strap over his head and off his shoulder, nodding to the crowd in the darkness once but feeling short of breath as he presses his hands to just beneath his ribcage, carefully going over to put Red into her case. Tottering, almost. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

He gets this way after concerts sometimes, the adrenaline and joy leaves all at once, its place taken by crushing loneliness and sorrow. Almost every time, even as much as he wishes it wouldn't. He wishes he could ride the high like his bandmates have, Freddie and especially Roger so effortlessly. John often needs a drink but at least he can get to a joyful place. 

Brian, well, he doesn't. Not afterwards. At the most, he is content. But far more often he is not. 

Today what's going on is that he doesn't feel right. There's the breathing, of course; but there's also something else. He doesn't know what causes it apart from not knowing if he looks well, not feeling put-together. Freddie always has some dazzling makeup choice or fashion article and it looks stunning on him and Roger, even John can pull things off--like canary-yellow stretch pants--but not him. He's awkward Brian, gangly Brian. Today he felt like a gargantuan off-kilter swan. Maybe that's what's causing the shortness of his breathing.

He clatters down the steps backstage with long fingers slippery around his guitar case handle, and is shuddering from head to foot as he pushes through the green room door, nodding jerkily to the stagehands, techs and roadies who toss off "alright, good show". Afterwards shutting the door behind him, Brian finds that he cannot cease shuddering and falls sharply to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves!
> 
> I can't seem to stop writing angst and Queen boys in tough spots, so here is Brian having trouble because I remember seeing a quote from him saying that he never really felt comfortable in what he was wearing, thought he didn't "look right" and I think we can all relate to that. Also the femininity of some of the (particularly early) fashion choices of the band fascinate me, so thought I'd try writing this.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it, comments are appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

Roger bangs open the green room door, crowing at the top of his voice. Always shouting, eyes sparkling in that round-cheeked face, beautiful blue under the long blond locks and further accentuated by his white collared shirt, looking like one Brian often wears; but unlike Brian's, Roger's version is not buttoned. And instead of being tucked in tightly is hanging gaily, paired with brilliantly coloured suspenders and jeans rather than pleated perfectly creased black slacks. Brian spots the shoes last of all, those bright pink trainers with sparkles adorning them, and groans as he presses his hand to the floor, curls barely hanging in the air above it. 

"Got to scream in, don't ya, Rog?" He gasps, trying for a bit of banter even as a sharp pain pierces his side seeing the drummer shrug his suspenders off his shoulders, free and easy and casual as he walks into the room. Swaggers, more like. Has Rog ever not been absolutely stunning? Just the barest hint of pale green shadow accentuates Roger's eyes even more, and Brian aches at how beautiful he is. Can't help himself. 

Roger scoffs "'Course I do, Brian, that was a bloody fantastic show! Just listen to the crowd, mate!" He spins around, beaming, and in comes John whose hands are grabbed instantly by Roger and he lets out a peal of laughter as the pair spin and whirl around the room.

"I heard them," Brian rests an elbow on the stool he'd dropped down next to, and he doesn't know what it is, the tightness in his voice or that he's sat sharply down on his arse now that stops John and Roger from moving. 

Brian hears a murmur from John, and then Roger's big blue eyes are right in front of his face and rolling off the drummer are scents of smoke and sweat as his skin shines, practically _glows--_ Those strong drummer's hands, adorned with callouses, including a few spots newly-formed likely during the show tonight-- he'd been glorious on the hi-hats, his signature. Well, one of his signatures-- catch the tall guitarist by both shoulders. "Jesus, Brian, are you alright?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for breathing issues below (but everything will be all right, I promise)

Brian shakes his head, curls whispering against the slippery cloth of his tunic-like dress shirt that slopes down off his bony shoulders and showcases his pale neck and skinny chest. He shuts his eyes. Whether he is saying that he's not all right or if he's simply, nonverbally telling Roger not to bother with him, Brian doesn't know himself. 

Yet the drummer is taking over anyhow, putting a hand to Brian's spine and saying "Straighten up for me, mate. Get a breath through your nose and keep breathing, come on." He says something to John that makes no sense to Brian. "His lips are going purple, Deaks, they're almost fucking blue!" which makes no sense, he hadn't put on any lipstick, certainly not that shade-- and then Roger's strong hands find the knot at his lower back, the string bisecting his tunic just beneath Brian's ribs, and Roger yanks at it with warm fingers, mumbling curses as he bows his head next to Brian's, tickling his friend's face with his long soft hair, and then

"Hang on, Brian," says John and Bri nods, spots dance before his eyes and then cool sweet relief floods him as the tightness he'd felt in his body recedes. He feels cooler, and then Roger's hands are hauling the heavy cloth up and off, and here he is in trousers and nothing, chest heaving and more sweat on him now than there had been for the duration of the entire show. "There you are," jumbled voices after a loud slamming sound:

"Breathe, mate. How the fuck tight was that knot he tied himself? What in the hell--"

"I'll get him some water. C'mon and sit yourself up, Brian, here." 

"Have him stretch out on the settee, darling."

Brian feels himself standing with assistance and then his vision clears to see his body stretched on a velvety green chaise that Fred had brought into their dressing area before the show, and three sets of eyes are on him wearing various degrees of anger, worry, and gentle concern. 

John holds out a cup of water to him and Freddie strokes back tangled locks of his curly hair.

Breaths coming heavily, out bursts Roger: 

"When the fuck were you planning to tell us you _weren't getting any oxygen?!?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Brian tied his tunic on a bit too tightly and didn't realise at first, and either by the time he did it was middle of the show and he couldn't do a thing about it, or with the adrenaline he didn't register til getting offstage. And then of course he didn't say a thing... Ah, Brian
> 
> Luckily John and Rog are observant and that Rog has some medical training that would make him instantly search for what was adversely affecting Brian's breathing. He is going to be all right :)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

Freddie tries to soothe his exasperated friend. "He wasn't out of air, Blondie, you and dearest Deacy helped."

John nods and says quietly "Roger, he's all right."

"Oh, really?" A cocked eyebrow and intent stare freeze Brian in place. "Are you really alright, Bri? The techs said something about you before I came in, seemed like you were in a cloud--"

"Surely he was in space, that is, after all, his field," Freddie shoots a sweetly teasing smile at Brian, reaching out and stroking his cheek.

Brian closes his eyes and starts trembling again as Freddie touches him, sweet gentle Fred in all his beautiful decency, wearing that dark sequined top that makes him look like a mysterious witch or fairy king, his fingertips so soft in the single fingerless glove he's wearing. He looks fantastic. They all do. They all _ARE._ Brian bows his body forward and puts his face in his hands with a whimper. 

Instantly Freddie grows concerned, shifting to sit on the settee next to Brian. "Oh, dear. What is it, Brian darling? Let me hold you, there there." The singer gently guides Brian's head to rest on his shoulder and chest, still stroking the guitarist's curls. Brian blinks his eyes open and chokes on a single sob, sagging into Freddie but looking at Roger.

Roger, who crouches and grabs a hold of Brian's forearm before taking his hand. His serious gaze renders his query without the addition of his voice, yet Brian can still tell clear as day what Roger wants from him.

His truth.

So he sucks in a breath, thank god he's no longer constricted, and clears his throat, gesturing round with one pale long-fingered hand. "..I knew it, I've always known it, but I noticed again tonight...," the tallest man's words come in almost a hiss as his thin cheeks flush with shame. "I don't--I never look right, Roger."


	5. Chapter 5

Roger stares hard at Brian, hand still curled around his friend's, so it's a simple thing to extend his first two fingers and check Brian's pulse, just in case. It's there and steady, if a little faster than typical, which ordinarily he would attribute to the adrenaline dump of being onstage, but tonight is joined by the terror of stopped breath. And he's so glad that there had been nothing really wrong but a too-tight tether on Bri's tunic, must watch for that in future-- yet after that, the drummer cannot stop an incredulous bark of laughter from passing his lips in response to the comment the guitarist makes. "What the fuck are you on about, Bri?" He asks, utterly stupefied, brows wrinkling and drawing together because Brian looks like an honest-to-goodness Rock God whilst onstage with his solemn face and flying fingers. Roger has always thought so.

Yet clearly to Brian himself that is not the case. "I'm just a-- can't put myself together properly, not like you, or John, and especially not Freddie." Brian lifts his eyes and looks piteously up at Roger from under his mussed midnight fringe, gentle tone of voice even quieter than normal. "I'm either a stodgy businessman or an awkward swan, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"What?" Roger's lips tremble as his eyes sparkle with suppressed laughter. "What're you talking about, Brian?" He thinks of all the times when they worked together before Queen, how Bri hadn't initially expressed himself with fashion choices like flowing gauzy shirts with embroidery on, or silken cloth with sparkles. He'd always been business, but with Queen he's grown so much. Roger squeezes Brian's hand and slaps his shoulder jovially. "Come on, mate, you're like me, and there's no reason to be buggered about it--you're just a giant girl!"

There is silence after that, and a cough from John that lets Roger know he probably ought to say something more to explain that comment better to Brian, yet the guitarist is standing, shoulders high, stiff as he goes to his hangers in the room and finds after-concert attire. His fingers start and stop on the shirt buttons as he says softly "Well Rog, I may have played a girl once in school, but"

"Whoa," Roger is up and jumping over the settee, lunging round to stand in front of Brian and put both hands on the guitarist's upper arms. He can wrap them round almost entirely, and Roger finds it in his mind to think he's going to get his mate to eat, but "It's not a bloody problem, Brian! It means you have supposedly feminine tastes in clothes, but so what? So do I!"

"And I," Freddie curls his hand and strikes a pose. "There's nothing wrong with it, dear."

"Who's to decide what's 'feminine' anyway?" Utters John quietly. And wisely. "You like and wear whatever you like. We all do."

"Yeah, exactly!" Roger grins, squeezing Brian's shoulders. "Just relax, Bri."

Brian looks round at each of them and feels his chest warm, but then his heart begins to sink. They don't understand; it isn't about things being feminine, not really, though there was always a push and pull for him even at home as a child.... 

Yet, no, this comes down not to how he presents himself, but the way he looks. He tries to smile as he pushes fingers through his curls and nods, stepping back. "I--thank you, Rog," he tells his friend, and then looks round again at them all. "But the thing is, I don't look anything close to, I'm not near as eye-catching as you three! Not in an attractive way," he blinks rapidly, hating how this surely makes him sound, and says "Come on, it's the three heartthrobs from Queen and their lanky-limbed horse-faced guitarist. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just. I know I don't look like the three of you," he gestures helplessly. "Freddie, your fathomless eyes and fantastically unique facial structure. Deacy, your smooth skin and soft hair and the way your whole face lights up whenever you smile, and Roger..." 

Just, _Roger._ Brian's breathing hitches as he looks down into his dear friend's open, intent, attractive face. Sees the rising dudgeon in Roger's squinty gaze--as he hasn't got his glasses on, of course--but it makes his eyes sparkle and cheeks flush, rendering him so exquisite as to take Brian's breath away. Brian shakes his head violently. "Rogie, I can't hold a candle to you, so why on Earth should I try?" He slides his arms into coat sleeves, jerkily, and turns, taking the water cup that John had brought for him with a "thank you, Deacy". Drains it and goes to the door, opening it with a slight tremble in his gentle voice "Well then. I should get on." 

Like he isn't going back to the van-- or the flat, later-- with the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian is insecure and awkward and he doesn't know what to do with himself now, poor man. I hope this isn't taking too many liberties with what I've learned about him. My goal is, as always, to be respectful of these four wonderful men.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think, comments appreciated <3


	6. Chapter 6

John and Freddie stare at each other as Roger glares after Brian as he's gone out the door and closed it by now. John shuffles his feet and rubs at his neck, flashing an uncomfortable smile at Freddie, a little embarrassed to be put on the spot for beauty he hadn't really thought about possessing. Also, he is the one looking at Brian. They all are, and obviously, Bri doesn't see the truth about himself, which is

"Poor dear doesn't realise he's a gift, the most beautiful gift. To us, and to the world," Freddie murmurs as John blinks and nods, and Roger stands staring at the door, seething.

"Bloody hell, where's that giant moron got to?!" He leaps at the door, ready to slam it open and shout, or follow.

John automatically puts out a placating hand. "Roger,"

He doesn't realise that he has moved around the settee now as well, but does. And in a split second catches sight of Brian's red special in her case, but still there. Bri had left without his guitar, and that shows the bassist more than anything what sort of frame of mind he's in. 

"Rog, look." John curls his fingers carefully around the handle of Brian's guitar case and lifts it up into the drummer's view. Several emotions flit across Roger's face. Shock, confusion, concern, and a pointed expression that precedes a look that is almost cold. Yet the worry still lurks deep in those bright blue eyes that John often finds himself nearly drowning in. He understands what Brian means about Roger, no question. 

John glances sideways as a warm hand catches his shoulder, arm wrapping round his back as gentle Freddie stands with him and with Roger too. "What is it, Blondie darling? What are you planning to do?"

Roger licks his lips. "Well, for starters, we've got to put that guitar someplace safe. Bri will kill us if something happens to it. To her, no matter how much a ruddy pacifist he is." The drummer draws himself up and goes to the hangers on the wall, pulling down his enormous fluffy coat that is nearly the same shade as his hair and shrugging into it. Takes out the keys to their vehicle and his sunglasses to put back on. 

"And then?" John now prompted. "What's your plan after that, Rog?"

Looking at the pair of them, his fellow heartthrobs, apparently, the drummer reaches out and takes both of their shoulders. "You'll have to hold down a table at some establishment, Freddie," that high husky voice directs. "Preferably a bar." 

With a flourish and a grin, Freddie returns "It will be my absolute pleasure, darling."

Roger nods, not missing a beat. "Cheers. John, you get drinks. We'll need food too, something Bri will like, and." Roger swallows, expression settling into something sharp as he squeezes his friends and then relinquishes them. John cannot help reaching out to him.

"And what, Rog?"

With a strong grasp of the bassist's hand and then a spin on his heel, Roger Meddows Taylor announces with baring teeth and a sharp nod: "...I'm going after him." Bloody stubborn giant bastard, the drummer adds to himself. "Wish me luck."

John and Freddie glance at each other as John automatically pulls Brian's guitar into a secure position against his chest. Freddie takes down his own jacket as well as John's, draping the bassist's around his shoulders with a smile and a peck on John's cheek before slipping into his own jacket and looking back at Roger, deep gaze warm and proud of the dear stubborn drummer. John nods to Rog as well.

"Luck," both say to him at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's laying out a plan, and I think it will take ten chapters to execute something that might convince Brian he's wrong. Or at least help him some, especially since he was so distraught he left his dear Red behind!
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. Chapter 7

As the remainder of the band gathers up their clothing, makeup, equipment, and other miscellany with their roadies' help-- Crystal and company bantering with Freddie when it becomes clear that ever-exuberant joke-cracking Roger Taylor is mentally elsewhere-- John carefully notes Roger's expressions and movements.

He has always taken note of Rog from the first, it's an easy thing to do--and they are the rhythm section, after all; they watch after one another. How exuberant and energetic the drummer is, always. Always moving. If there was a bit of body language that categorised or described Rog, it would be his waggling tongue or mobile eyebrows and the flipping of his drumsticks. He's also always moving his mouth, talking or swearing or singing, even counting time with quietly vocalised 'ba ba ba's during drum work.

Roger's mouth isn't moving now, however, and there is a stubborn set to his chin and a tenseness in his jaw. Well there is always that set of stubbornness because he's Roger, but tonight he seems wound extra tight. And he isn't making eyes at any squealing female fans outside the stage when he and the boys pass to reach the van. All Rog does is swing himself up onto the runner and squint up and down the roadway hoping to spot Brian. "I should be able to bloody spot him, it's BRIAN," the drummer spits out in frustration, jerking his fingers through his hair in fury. But no sign. "He isn't fucking hard to see!"

Yet there is nothing. Naught but people in pairs and groups hoofing it down sidewalks to someplace warm with light and food and drinks and music, he's sure. Roger grumbles as he folds his arms over his chest in his fuzzy blond coat as the wind picks up. There's nothing but sweet John's pale face tilted up at the drummer, expressing all John's quiet concern in a look. Dearest Deacy. 

Roger hops down, or plops, rather, to settle himself on the van's runner and lean against the rear door they'd opened and been placing instruments and amplifiers in. John carefully attaches Bri's guitar case in the netted bag attached to the side of the van bed. Usually it's meant for cymbals or anything else big that has a tendency to rattle around the back, especially when Roger is driving. But this time it's even more important to keep Brian's instrument secure, and Roger feels his chest grow warm at the care John is taking. He shakes out a cigarette from his ever-present pack and offers it to the bassist, clamping a second between his own lips and teeth as he gets out a light. 

As he catches the tip of the fag aflame, he thinks on what Brian always reams him for.

"You're going to ruin your lungs, Rog," Bri has said on more than one occasion, coughing and batting at the air in vain attempts to wave the acrid smoke away. "There are so many carcinogens, why d'you do that?"

"I'm a rocker, Brian," he'd retorted, grinned. Warm red end of the fag lighting up as he gestured. "I don't have natural mythic rock 'n roll god status or quality like you do," he waves expansively at Brian who'd been lounging beside him, long legs extended and Red Special resting perfectly in his lap. Fingers poised, ready for his mind to compose some beautiful fucking poem and put it in song. "--so I fucking use this." Roger had sharply inhaled then and attempted to blow a smoke ring, which backfired massively and he expelled an explosive cough instead, head hanging forward as he hacked. "'Sides, makes me look cool, right?" He'd croaked out, eyes watering as he gasped and choked on smoke.

Brian's whole face had lit up even as his long hand went instantly to Roger's back, rubbing it as he got the smoke out. Those darker eyes were glittering as Bri caught his full lower lip with long teeth in a real, dazzling smile. "Oh you look amazingly cool, Roger," he'd said, tone snapping drily with a bit of rarely-expressed cheek, and Roger had been overjoyed by it. 

He threw his head back and cackled once he had his breath, thinking Brian was absolutely beautiful in every way at that moment. But of course he hadn't told him. All he'd done after taking another pull was growl "Oh piss off, ya wanker." 

And that was the problem, there. How, the drummer wonders now as he inhales and blows smoke from his current, present cigarette, with John's head a comfortable weight upon his arm and shoulder as the bassist silently puffs at his own-- how can he get Brian Harold May, the most stubborn of all stubborn bastards, to believe that he's as much a sight to behold as any of the three of them?

How in the bloody hell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every time I see Roger counting off time by moving his mouth whilst drumming (or playing the tambourine) in a video it makes me appreciate him all the more. Especially as he's gotten older, it's quite endearing :) and of course Deaks would be aware of it from the start, from what I can tell he's quite observant
> 
> *Brian reportedly has never been a fan of smoking. I'm with you, Brian!
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibility of upsetting scene below, Roger looks for Brian on a bridge. Not sure how else to explain this except it could be triggering, but Bri is all right, or will be :)

Roger eventually finishes his cigarette. He feels as though it'd taken him a lot of time to do so, when in actuality it was less than a quarter of an hour, probably even less than ten minutes. He taps his fingers on his jean-covered knee and tugs at one still-hanging suspender, unable to settle and remain completely still. He doesn't know where Brian's gone and doesn't know where he'd be, but finally Freddie skips back over from where he'd been chatting to every-bloody-body behind the damn stage. Ordinarily Roger wouldn't mind that; other nights he'd actually have been with Fred, probably chatting up someone (or several someones) to go to the pub with. Or someplace else. One potentially somewhat more... secluded.

Tonight, though, Roger can't even look at anyone without seeing something of Brian. A shapely hand or coiffed puff of hair almost, but not quite, kinked as perfectly as Bri's. Someone with long legs makes him start as they walk by, and he swears explosively and chucks the end of the fag, grinding it into the asphalt, his trainer catching a final bit of light. Someone on the sidewalk nearby snorts out a word that sounds suspiciously akin to a slur. Roger is up and roaring at that, eyes sparking fury and head lowered, dangerous as he sees a couple of blokes and their girls scoffing at the sight of him and John cuddled up together. 

"Oi!" Roger pushes off the runner, furry jacket swinging open to showcase his chest. "Y' wanna say that again?"

One bloke, a tall one, like Brian, damn it--but with hard eyes, gaze crueller than Brian's ever has been or ever could be--turns and calls back "Say wot?" In challenge. 

Roger's up and tipping his head back, ready to belt this arsehole on principle, even as he isn't man enough to repeat his spat word, but a grunt and movement precedes darkness and an explosion of pain around Roger's right eye. Doesn't have the time to react before he blinks and finds himself being held by something wiry but soft.

Roger blinks again, shakes his head free of stars to find himself spread-eagled practically laid out on the road behind their van with John under and behind him, fingers threading through Roger's hair and holding up his head, and his face is starting to smart. Shakes his head and groans as he lifts his hand to feel it, sure the skin is purpling madly and everyone is hustling on down the road again.

"He got away--!" Roger snarls and lunges but stumbling is glad that John's gentle yet strong fingers are still around him, one hand around his waist now, holding Roger up. He feels his stomach roil and clench as the tone of that voice and the word it used sound vile in his brain, and suddenly Roger sways and stands upright. "I need some air," he said, and something hits as though the punch had knocked a thought free-- he knows now where Brian could very well be.

There was a bridge along the way to this gig, off from the main streets of the city they're in, but broad enough for cars as well as a footpath, and across a river, like the bridges in London over the Thames. It had opened up to showcase the night sky and the lights around it were like low and distant stars. Something he thinks Brian would like to see, to clear his head. He'd remarked on the picturesque nature of the bridge as they'd crossed it in daylight going toward their gig, and Roger is sure that it is the sort of place that would appeal twice as much to him at night. 

He looks to Deaks and says "John, I'm getting some air. I'm going to that bridge, the picturesque one," and John nods, eyes widening with recognition. 

"I'll stick round here with Freddie, unless you need...," At Roger's already-shaking head, John smiles, flashing the gap in his teeth. "Right. Fair enough. You'll be able to find us, yeah?" He gestures round the road at various and sundry establishments. Various and sundry being a generous term, there are two in sight. "You'll find us," he says with certainty and a clasp of Roger's shoulder. "I'll find you some ice," he adds, "You'll need it. Not the best-looking of us now, mate," and Roger smiles. Good ol' Deaks, always thinking ahead and tossing out gems with that dry sense of humour.

"Ta," he says. "Tell Freddie I've gone after Brian, yeah?"

John looks back to Freddie, still being his performance charming self. "He knows," the bassist said, and Freddie's eyes flick up to lock on Roger's. He at first gives a look of concern over what Roger is pretty certain is becoming a fantastically black eye, but then puckers his lips in an air-kiss and the drummer sends one back. Yeah, Fred knows, all right. How he is so excellent at that, Rog does not know, but he is grateful.

With a swift hug and slap on the arse for Deacy, "Save me a drink," the drummer tosses off as he heads bridge way. Calling back over his shoulder "...Knowing Brian, I'll likely need two."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure there will always be that one arsehole who yells out cruel things at people on the street, and Roger, particularly in the mood he's in, won't stand for it
> 
> My apologies if the above chapter is/was at all worrisome to readers. I was told it could read in a triggering way because of Brian being upset and potentially going onto a bridge. See the next chapter for what actually goes on, he's walking across lost in thought
> 
> Also, the bridge I've described is based on one in a Vincent Van Gogh painting I've seen. Don't know if there was any such bridge (never mind the specific one) near the area Queen was performing in the 1970s, but the idea of one akin to it is a calming one to me. I'll have to do some more research! ;P
> 
> The painting is entitled "Starry Night over the Rhône", 1888
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	9. Chapter 9

Brian isn't sure where precisely his feet are taking him, except someplace under the stars and alone. He has always done his best thinking about the stars or under them, or both; and needs to get out of the city proper. The closeness of buildings and prevalence of people stifle him, a bit. 

He breathes freely, easier on the water. Though it isn't quite the ocean, at least it isn't brackish, dirty smelling water like the Thames or the Channel; this river is gentle and shallow, beautiful and serene, like a glass, darkly reflecting both starlight and lights from the city. Brian finds his steps taking him to the central point, curved up closest to the expanse of the sky, and a chill wind rustles trees away and tugs his hair across his face. 

Brian's eyes travel over the riverbank and the steady sturdiness of the bridge beneath him and on either side, solid and unyielding as it must have been since Roman times, when the people saw fit to traverse this unknown land of the Britons. There is no vestige of the hard way the Romans came through; none but this sturdy bridge, outlying their strength and lasting presence, known across the ages for its might. A stark sort of beauty this has, and it pierces Brian's heart even whilst also providing a sort of surety, a knowledge that many things last. This bridge is weathered and scarred, and so its beauty lies not in appearance, but steadfastness. The ability to connect places and peoples. He sighs, breathing deeply and closing his eyes as he curls both hands around the railing of the bridge, breathing fresh night air. And reveling, in a way, as he feels his unhappy tears cooling, drying upon his cheeks. "...I may not be a thing of beauty, but at least there are some things that last." And perhaps such a thing Queen's music shall be. Lips lifting in a tiny trembling smile, Brian says "...I have hope." Surely, his concern over not looking right--it matters naught in the grand scheme, does it?

As the wind picks up again, blowing his frizzy hair back and causing the guitarist to shiver a little, folding his arms into his chest and bowing forward just a bit, he hears a snort and "Bloody hell, you'd BETTER still have hope after such a little bloody thing as tying your tunic too tight!" 

Turning round he spies Roger, shaking his head and scoffing at what he deems to be "Such dramatics, all the time. Fred could learn something from you, Bri." 

And then Brian's eyes bulge as he truly takes in the full extent of the drummer's appearance, his facial features having been illuminated by light across the dark. The guitarist is shocked enough to swear.

"Fucking hell, Roger, what happened to you?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's eye is clearly not looking so great...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	10. Chapter 10

"Oh, this?" The drummer cocks his head nonchalantly and gestures at his eye, which he can tell is puffy because it's even harder for him to see out of it than usual. He has way less of a visual field, and he feels his heartbeat thudding in his eye socket. But none of that matters; he's glad he followed his hunch and found Bri out here on the bridge, doing his usual sort of bloody thinking, which definitely means overthinking. And of course includes dramatics. 

Brian has come up and raised one hand to cup Roger's cheek, and even without full sight Roger practically _feels_ the worry and horror and empathetic pain Bri is feeling in response to his, as expressed by his impossibly adorable puppy-dog eyes. "Eh, it's nothing much, just wanted to prove to you I'm not always the prettiest."

He would cock that eyebrow, but his face actually does hurt, damn it, and Roger cannot help an exclamation of said pain. Brian's hands are at his shoulders now and he's saying "Rogie, come on, you're in pain. And I hardly think this is the time to be making jokes." The guitarist speaks severely, pulling Roger next to him and attempting to head with him back down and off the bridge. "I should get you--"

"--to tell you more about how pretty YOU are, yes, you should!" Roger announces. "Stellar idea, Brian!"

The other sighs. Roger can practically _hear_ the rolling of his friend's eyes. "Roger--"

"No," Roger snaps, turns to Bri and reaches up, grabbing his face, pressing his fingers against Bri's lips to shut him up. "You're going to listen to me, because I'm going to make you. You aren't out of place, Brian. My god, you come out on stage looking like the Lord of Rock! You're practically _glowing_ , mate. Every night. S'your ability, yeah, but also your skin is pale and perfect and it's set off by those curls that I've said before and will say again, are perfect for a rocker." He tugs on one curl right now for good measure and laughs at Brian's groan. "And why d'you think Fred has me looking for flowing fabric all the time? It's because you look like an angel, Brian. Those legs of yours go on for ages and when you spread your arms in those silky shirts it's like you have wings!" Roger drags Brian's front against his own chest and flings his head back to stare into Brian's face. With one eye, yes, but all the force of two. 

He takes his fingers from Brian's lips and strokes his thin cheek instead, trailing fingers around Brian's jaw and then cupping his face and holding on. Roger remains close and is now whispering. "You're fucking beautiful, Bri. And more than that, you're absolutely brilliant. Way more than just a pretty face." Something at the corner of Roger's mouth twitches, Brian thinks; or maybe he's imagining things. Surely, he is. He has to be imagining all of these sweet words Roger is saying about him.... "I mean it. With your sound, everyone knows it's Queen. That guitar of yours is a masterwork, and before you blow your top about it, go on, she's safe in the van. Deacy tied her in good and proper to keep her snug in the net." Roger nods proudly as if he had done the securing himself.

Brian blinks, blown away by this. He feels Roger's thumb stroke his skin before the drummer wraps both arms around him and whispers "And I haven't even said a thing about your writing of music or your vocal harmonies, but let's get inside before I go on about all that, yeah? I'm freezing my arse off."

The guitarist chokes on sound, long hands automatically encircling Roger's waist and holding tight. He feels tears prick his eyes at Roger's sentiments and the conviction with which he speaks them. Bowing his head into Roger's warm shoulder, feeling Roger's face buried in his hair, Brian murmurs "... Thank you, Rogie." 

Holding on as tight as he can to his friend, and not knowing how much the man is taking of this as truth, Roger doesn't care. His friend is absolutely beautiful inside and out, and he'll keep right on reiterating that fact. One day he's going to make sure Brian believes it. 

"You're fucking welcome, Bri."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this little story is done. It ended up a bit shorter than I thought, so let me know if you'd like to read more. EDIT: I feel as though this story is not done with me, nor I with it; so I plan to have two more chapters.
> 
> Thanks as always to the members of Queen for their lovely friendship
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments are appreciated <3


	11. Chapter 11

Roger holds on to Brian, feeling his mate's lean body shiver against him, and automatically shifts his fluffy coat in an attempt to provide a bit of warmth. Lifts a hand and pushes his fingers through Brian's hair, and then, wrapping his opposite arm around the taller man's waist, the blond ducks his head as another sharp gust of wind blows and hisses "Christ, Bri, let's at least get off this fucking bridge. Deaks said he'd find a place to settle by the time we come back. One of two, soon as he manages to make Freddie settle in," he cracks a smile, teeth glowing bright in the shimmering golden shine from street lamps extending across the water. Tugging at the thinly-muscled side of his friend, feeling that smooth pale cold skin (likely to get even more frigid if they stay out here too long, and Roger is done seeing purpling lips today, thank you very much) the drummer adds "Let's get on."

Brian, sucking in air and relaxing under Roger's hands, smiles down, eyes crinkling at the edges. He wraps an arm around the drummer's shoulders and allows Rog to tug him back towards the city, the lights and cobbles and close-together buildings, to go back and be with the band. He's sure their dearest Fred will be starting a party, or will otherwise be the life of any one already on. And they ought to get back to be with John, who isn't the most comfortable in a boisterous crowd, particularly if their lead singer has flounced off somewhere in his great excitement.

Running his open palm up and down Roger's spine, having slipped his hand under his friend's coat --mostly for warmth, yet also to remain as close to his friend as possible-- the guitarist feels the crispness of the white shirt Rog still wears, feels the stretching loops of suspenders slapping against his leg as they walk together.

Roger's puffy eye is getting some looks as they move back along the expanse of the bridge, and the drummer alternatively makes faces or cracks "...Makes me even prettier, doesn't it?"

Brian chuckles, shaking his head fondly, and ends of his curls brush across Roger's head as he does so. He looks back at the solid bridgeway once they're walking on cobblestone again, and the peaceful feeling intensifies. Not only is this a vestige of the past and endurance, but it represents a belief Roger has in him, because his dear friend's convictions are precisely as strong and lasting as that bridge. "...You really find me pretty, Rog," the guitarist says, half a question, half a statement; he must keep speaking aloud in a real attempt to believe its truth because "Honestly? Look at you," he gestures with his free hand. "Black eye or no black eye."

Roger snorts, rests his head against Brian's side. "'Course I do, mate," he speaks stoutly. "Should've said it ages ago, as you are - inside and out. I mean it." With a teasing little smile and a nudge "...but that's why I'm getting your arse back to Deaks and Freddie; figure you're more likely to believe what they say since my eyes are shit." He winks, and Brian laughs aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's joking nature is amazing to me, it's immensely fun to write. He's definitely going to get Fred and John in on complimenting Brian to help him believe that he looks good.
> 
> I wanted to write as much as possible about their sweet friendship because I love it.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	12. Chapter 12

It's a step from the street and even from their earlier performance that night to enter the pub Bri and Roger find: "The Wrench, look at that, it's got to be the one Deaks chose of the two places, Bri-- and you know Fred would love it, he's got a big one, though nothing like yours as he's certain to say!" the drummer waggles his eyebrows and flicks out his tongue. Rog cackles, giddy as Brian's pale face grows instantly flushed as he registers what his friend is referring to.

"Roger!"

"Hahaha, ahh Bri, lighten up!" The drummer shoves his friend's side and grins. As they reach the door of the pub, smoke wafts down the alleyway, narrow and bricklaid on either side. A flight of rusty metal stairs bends around the back end of the alley, extending to what appears to be a rooftop bar; judging from the noise level, it seems Freddie is likely up top. 

Smoke hangs in the air of the pub itself, creating hazy haloes around the lightbulbs that hiss and fizz and blink every time someone walks by. It's a low ceiling, slatted boards, and the bar along the right side is heavy dark wood, polished but scratched. A couple of fellows are gathered before the bartender yelling about the most recent football match.

"Oi, you got a good house vodka or beer on tap here, mate?" Roger says as he leans against the bar, looking over the sunglasses he had slipped out of his furry jacket's breast pocket and pushed up his nose as he and Brian walked in, Bri holding the door open for his friend. He flicks his eyes up and then down as the bartender sniffs and cuts his eyes at the drummer, leaning over to swab the surface of the bar with a rag. A couple of the football-loving blokes chuckle and Roger whips his head round, yanking off the glasses and cocking a brow. "Something funny, blokes?"

"Nothing but a Nancy in a topcoat. Whose pet did you skin for that, sweetheart?"

Brian's eyes bulge and he bends over the bar a bit, head low. Roger's instant response is to turn and put an arm around his friend. He doesn't care what they say about him, but Bri's care for all creatures living is legendary. "Y' may want to shut your mouth, I'm sure this man doesn't want to throw anyone out on his ear, eh? So can we get a drink or what? -Why don't you go ahead to the back, Brian, alright? I bet Fred and John've been here for a bit." He rubs Brian's back. Bri nods and smiles as the bartender takes a look at the pair, and perhaps in gratitude for Roger's words he pours two drinks, pushing a pitcher across the bar. 

"Go 'head up, stairs at the rear," the bartender nods as Brian softly tells him thank you and Roger winks, grabbing up his glass and gulping from it. He stalks past the men who'd been chuckling and lifts his glass above his head. Brian carefully maneuvers through the room after Roger, holding the pitcher and his own glass close to his chest and having to duck his head in order not to bash it into the low ceiling.

Stairs are narrow and creaky, and soon as Brian sticks his head up onto the roof, holding the pitcher up "Brimi!" A blur of sparkles and darkness hits him in the chest and Freddie is hugging him, pressing kisses to Brian's cheek and neck and bit of exposed chest as he shuffles out onto the roof. "You're back, my darling--!" ("Told you I'd find him," Roger puts in, as though grumpy at the singer's level of thankful, shocked relief.) Freddie brightly continues, squeezing Brian's arm and caressing Roger's round cheek with his other hand, "I had no doubts you'd find him, my dearest Blondie." To Brian, "--Now let us get you into a seat. You look exhausted."

"--And cold. Here, Brian," as the guitarist shivers after the singer relinquishes him, a pair of hands wraps a garment around him. "Got your coat out of the van." It's John, who takes the pitcher and jerks his head towards the opposite end of the rooftop, where there are tables as well as a grill and what could potentially be a fire pit, as he had noticed smoke, too much from simple cigarettes unless everyone out here was smoking like a chimney. "We got some food too, c'mon." The bassist quietly ushers the tallest to a table and a vegetable platter. "Fred found--"

"Oi, fish and chips!" Roger crows, having sighted the greasy packet beside the veggie plate and diving at it. "Should've got a beer, nothing like chips an' a pint. A smoke too, y' mind, Bri?" Moving to the opposite end of the table, Roger taps out his packet and holds one cig up. 

Brian sighs. He doesn't love it, but they are, in fact, outside; and he's so touched that the others thought to get a vegetarian plate that honestly he doesn't mind. "Go on, Rogie," he says. Inclines his head and sits down. 

"Cheers," Roger beams, grease from the fish already smeared across his entire face as Freddie clucks and finds a napkin for him. John offers a little plate from across the table, sitting down, slinging a leg over the bench beside it and brushing his fingers against Brian's. 

"There's some bread," he says. "Hummus, and jam. Didn't know they made hummus 'round here but seems easy enough to find a jam. I mean, you saw Roger's eye," John cuts his eyes up sardonically and Brian actually giggles, which makes John's eyes crinkle with responding mirth. He presses Brian's hand, and the other grips his.

"I did, and I'm sure he didn't keep his mouth shut during whatever occurred," the guitarist wipes at his eyes after his giggles abate. John nods.

"Oh definitely not, I watched him confront a bloke and didn't have time to do a thing." Inclining his own head to Brian, "You're the only one of us who can control him, really." 

"...I try," Brian says. "I mean, I just --"

"You talk things through, Brian," says John softly. "Keep Rog and us all grounded." Ironic, though a sly little twinkling in John's eye is all the evidence Brian sees of his recognition of that cosmic irony, so to speak. But he is touched by the sincerity in the youngest band member's tone, and lifts his drink to him.

"Thank you, John."

Tapping his own drink, which he picks up from where he'd apparently set it before Brian and Roger showed up, against Brian's --the bassist smiles sweetly, flashing his gapped teeth.

"You're welcome, Bri."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Freddie did use a bit of blunt language to introduce Brian as Bri played the piano during a concert-- by saying, I quote "he's got a big cock". However Freddie knew about that is beside the point, I'm pretty certain Brian would be incredibly embarrassed. Though Freddie said similar things so often in the midst of concerts that perhaps Brian was used to it by then, who knows?
> 
> I don't know why I have people talk shit to Rog (I'm sorry, Roger!) But I really wanted to write a bit about John and Bri --and Roger being cheeky, of course. Also Freddie is so warm and exuberant, I really love writing him.
> 
> *Brian is such an animal lover, I think he'd have trouble with a joke like the pet one - but no animals were harmed - I'm pretty positive that jacket of Roger's was faux if it was fur
> 
> Putting this in at fourteen chapters, but I almost want to end it here. What do you think? Comments appreciated <3


	13. Chapter 13

Brian ends up leaning against the wall on the roof later on. It's not fully free-standing, luckily, because the wind nips a bit more as the evening continues. Rog has finished some cigarettes and drunk most of the first pitcher of alcohol --well, Brian did help after he'd got down pretty much the entire vegetable platter (with a bit of assistance from John who did, in fact, eat some of, and enjoy, the hummus). 

Freddie comes bounding up to Brian, extending a hand to ruffle his curls, saying cheerily "Pity we didn't bring your guitar up for you, Brian darling, else you could play some tunes" and then as Brian sways upright with hazel gaze darkening instantly, ready to say he's sorry, he should have brought his own things, kept track of his guitar, John leans his head on Brian's arm and Freddie pats his cheek. "Now don't you get all into your head, Brian love, I shall sing. And Roger will accompany me, won't you dear?"

"Always!" Crows Roger, hair swinging wildly as he flips over the empty pitcher and starts pounding on it with the end of the scooping spoon from the vegetable platter. "Let's go, Freddie, are you ready?!" And instantly they're off and singing some song, Brian isn't sure what --it starts like something from their second album and then morphs and changes much. Whatever it is, he hears Deaks let out his piercing, high-pitched, glug-like giggle from where his head still rests on Brian's shoulder. The guitarist shifts and pulls John into his side, absentmindedly stroking his lengthy fingers through the bassist's soft hair as he does his level best to hum along.

Brian's head is buzzing pleasantly now, objects seem a mite bit blurred; yet he can see the stars above him and hear his best mates sing. Feels Freddie bound up and flop into his lap, warm arms wrapping round his neck and lips pressing to his skin, murmuring endearments. Smells the tang of smoke and cologne and sweat and leather that is synonymous with Roger, and feels that ever-gentle presence that is John's. 

And Brian is content.

Whatever he may think of himself, they all are here for him; and no matter his own standards of physical beauty this, right here, being with Freddie and Roger and John is a truly beautiful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. This is, in fact, the final chapter - story wrote itself to an end for me :)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this little piece, thank you for reading, and as always comments are welcome <3


End file.
